A hundred kilometers outside of the range of the orbital defense ring, thirty Sherman MkIII remote infantry vehicles, cocooned in their drop capsules but not yet separated for insertion, began the automated process of activating onboard power and generating crypto keys for the local networks using white noise from the auxiliary antennae on each entry vehicle.

Operators on the other side of the world keyed into their stations, bodies going slack with the cocktail of muscle relaxants, mental stimulants, and tuned impulses sent along the jacks and transdermal receivers surgically implanted in each of their bodies.

Soon, the capsules would detach, each entry vehicle arming the onboard payloads to both function as hypersonic ballistics, and to disguise the Shermans as part of the launch debris from such. With any luck, the time it took for the enemy defenses to calculate the yield of the ballistics and conclude that they weren't the expected size…

To catch a memory 

on the edge of

your own language:

A fleeting articulation 

of clarity dissolving

into another.

The plastic cocktail animals

you let drink from your pint

an oasis in the restaurant    -   pretending for our fun.

That it could console

or even simplify complication

of a truth.

I made up this rhyme back when I was a young man...I'm 71 now so maybe I should think about writing a concluding verse, or maybe a continuing one in case I have another 20 years in me (unlikely). I still like it and once drew a thoughtful cartoon to accompany it.

When I turned round, the marching years

Had covered my furry chin with beards.

When I looked back at the playground there

were beautiful girls with golden hair.